The Wanderer

Her eyes aren't bright but she'd like to think that one day someone will call them stormy--the kind of storm that is slightly terrifying but also enthralling and beautiful. She wears t-shirts almost everyday because she thinks trying to look pretty is over-rated and she'd much rather be liked for her brain. She cares too deeply sometimes and it leaves her heart open for poking and prodding and pain. She is too shy to stand up for herself and therefore gets walked on a lot. Her face is made up of freckles and foot prints. People are impressed with her vulnerability but they don't know that there's still a mask over her face. Even when she cries to her best friend, she smiles through the tears because she can't bear to look weak. 

Only a fraction of her heart resides in this place while the rest of the pieces are roaming miles away, embracing people and places that no one understands. She knows that God has a plan for her but still doesn't comprehend how she could ever find someone that loved her enough to deal with her ridiculousness forever. She is self conscious of her teeth and her knees and her poor breathing habits and no one even knows. No one can fully grasp what is in the big-sky landscapes of her mind. 

But somehow she has a gift for seeing through people's happy eyes and knowing. They think that they can hide behind their pupils, but that is the exact place where she finds the portal to their souls. And for some reason, people look into her face and find a safe harbor where their souls can abide. She likes that about herself. When no one else cares or understands, she can be the place where they hide.

Now she's walking on a blanket of grass with her bare feet, feeling every spongey step with her soles. The ground pushes skyward and she presses forward as she hums some song that reminds her of her past. The expanse is vast but warm and familiar. And then the grass stops.

She is standing on the edge of eternity ready to jump and soar.